


Broken Ties

by rionaleonhart



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-30
Updated: 2006-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rionaleonhart/pseuds/rionaleonhart
Summary: Jak, Damas and a revelation.
Relationships: Damas & Jak (Jak and Daxter)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Broken Ties

“I never thought that I would say this,” Damas says, pulling the bandages tighter, “but perhaps you _should_ listen to your little animal friend.”

Jak laughs quietly and immediately wishes that he hadn’t. The laughter scrapes through his lungs, laboured and painful. He wonders, idly, exactly how much sand he must have inhaled. “ _You_ sent me on that mission. I couldn't pull out until it was finished.”

“I have never known another warrior like you, Jak.” There is a note of admiration in Damas’ voice that Jak has rarely heard before, and he feels a brief surge of something that might be pride through the pain. “You cannot be lost. I give you my permission to withdraw from any mission if the danger becomes too much.” Surprised, Jak tries to turn around, tries to see his expression – _I would **never** have expected him to say that_ – but Damas tugs on the bandages rather harder than necessary, and the sudden jolt reminds him that he is supposed to be staying still.

“If you move, you will make your injuries worse. I have no intention to pamper you for any longer than is necessary.” The brief moment of closeness is gone. Jak stares at the wall ahead of him, tries to detach his mind from the pain.

“Your son – ” he begins, after a long silence.

Damas slips, swears, picks up the roll of bandages. He begins work in silence again, and Jak thinks that he must have forgotten what he said until he speaks.

“Mar.”

“That’s his name?”

“Was his name.” Damas seems to be a little less gentle now in treating his wounds – or is that only his imagination?

“What happened to him?” Jak asks, after a pause. It seems a delicate subject, and he isn’t sure why he wants to find out about it. It seems a little cruel to Damas, perhaps, bringing up these painful memories; but Jak has to know. He doesn’t know why.

“It isn’t important.”

It is a curt statement, and Jak knows that it is supposed to signal the end of the discussion, but he cannot stop himself. “What was he like?”

Damas does not answer, and Jak does not ask again; he went too far, he knows. Damas finishes dressing his wounds without speaking, and then stands. Jak gets up as well, stretching and trying to ignore the twinge of pain that shoots down his back, before picking up his clothes and beginning to dress. The fabric scrapes against his grazes, and he winces as he picks up the medallion he took from his younger self, and –

– and then Damas is gripping his wrist with incredible strength, and Jak bites back a cry of pain, drops the medallion. Damas is staring at it with an expression that Jak has never seen before.

“Where did you get this?”

Jak almost laughs. “You wouldn’t believe me if – ”

“I gave this to Mar,” he says, still staring at the amulet. “The symbol of our lineage – ”

“Mar?” Jak asks in disbelief, and the next thing he knows Damas’ arms are around him and there might be tears in the corners of his eyes and he looks more _vulnerable_ than Jak has ever seen him.

Jak tilts his head, and blinks, and shifts his weight, a little awkwardly. Damas’ armour is putting pressure on his injuries, but he tries not to show the pain that he is causing him. He does not reciprocate.

Damas seems to notice his unease, because he lets go and steps back. Jak cannot bring himself to look at him – focuses on the wall behind him as if it is the most interesting thing that he has ever seen.

The silence between them is oddly tense. He feels that he should say something, but he has no idea what it is that he should say. It was easier when he was mute – these things were never _expected_ of him, then.

“You’re my father,” he says eventually, and it sounds dull and flat and emotionless and he _should be feeling_ something, he should be feeling _more_ than this. This is his _father_. He has _family_. Family ties are supposed to be important – he can remember when Daxter’s mother died, can remember him becoming unnaturally silent and withdrawn. Jak had been afraid then that the friend he knew might have been lost for ever.

It had never really occurred to him that _he_ would have had to have parents at some point. It was so _obvious_ , he thinks now as he looks at Damas, he should have realised it before, Damas had lost a son and Jak had lost a father and why didn’t he _realise_ –

But he would never have expected this awkwardness. Families were supposed to be close, weren’t they? Father and son. It should be an automatic bond, something they know instinctively. Father and son – they should be comfortable around each other, they should be able to speak easily with each other. It isn’t supposed to be like this.

Damas is looking at the medallion _(not at him)_. “I’ve been – ” His voice wavers slightly. It makes Jak uncomfortable. Damas has always been strong, determined – it seems strange to see him like this, feels as if he is intruding on something intensely private. “I’ve been looking for you for so long, Mar.”

_Jak,_ he almost corrects him. It is the only name that he has ever known. To be called something else seems unnatural.

The split-second hesitation before Damas said the name almost makes it worse. It shouldn’t be this awkward. Damas should be able to call him _Mar_ easily, naturally. Jak should be able to accept it as his name.

He thinks, _why am I focusing on these tiny details?_ He thinks, _He’s found his son. I’ve found my father. We both have what we were looking for_ (even if he _wasn’t_ looking for his father, even if it had never occurred to him to wonder – )

The chain of the medallion is still wound around Damas’ hand. Jak forces himself to look up, to look at his expression, at once hopeful and pained, and he can barely stand the guilt.

“...I’m sorry,” he says, quietly. “I – don’t know you.” He pauses, gestures, tries to find a way of articulating what he is thinking. Words are so difficult. “I don’t know you. I don’t know how to be a son.”

Damas sits down on the rock again, stares at the water. His laugh is hollow, humourless. “I can’t blame you. I must have forgotten what it was like to be a father.” His hand is clenched, the chain of the medallion cutting into his glove.

Jak looks at him for a moment, and he knows that he isn’t prepared to leave it like this. He isn’t going to destroy this man – _his father_ , and the thought is still so strange. He isn’t going to deny himself this, his one chance to have a _family_. Closeness comes with time. He has started to think of Damas as a father figure before this discovery. Why should this destroy that? If anything, it should make it stronger.

“Maybe,” he says, after a long silence, “we could learn.”

Damas looks up at him, then, and his smile is warm and genuine, and Jak cannot help laughing with relief.


End file.
